


Courage

by i_found_a_spoon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for episode 50
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2170008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_found_a_spoon/pseuds/i_found_a_spoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Earl fell in to the gaping pit to the bottom of the universe, even the town's most courageous scoutmaster didn't know what to expect, or the events that would follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Earl approached the tent, with courage, he told himself. A scoutmaster is always courageous. Strong. Tough. He needed that courage today, for none, not even the town's bravest scoutmaster, knew what disaster would come to the rest of the city's people because of his scouts. Today, was the Eternal Scout initiation.   
They were already at the undisclosed location of ceremony, Earl could sense it. There they were, dressed in the ceremonial wings and cloaks of their past ancestors. Their hair was shaved, and- everything was in place. But Earl was not afraid- he was terrified. 

Earl sat down on the bright yellow, or what once had been a bright yellow lawnchair, and closed his eyes. The dim light of the tent made a great place for reflection. He desperately needed to calm down. Deep breaths, Earl. Take this easy. His thoughts, however, were rushing a thousand miles ahead of him, flying at the speed of a librarian. Eventually, he came to the realization that he would probably die today. Eh, he thought. He knew it would happen eventually, and why not today? He remembered what had been his life. What was. What could have been. What he wanted, but never had gotten. He laughed at his attempts to put his life in the past tense. If he had survived in this town so far, why not see the sun rise tomorrow? (Provided the sun did rise the next day). He really only had one regret in his life, anyways. The one thing he couldn't have. The one thing he ever wanted that wasn't for someone else. He had gone to see the man in question previously that day.   
"We could have had something Cecil. We really could have. "  
He told his younger campers stories sometimes. He always told the younger Scouts a story before bed, and now he told one to himself. It was always the same story, but he never got tired of it. 

Earl had been planning the surprise for Cecil's twelfth birthday ever since it showed up. The next step, of course, was actually convincing Cecil to sneak out and break into the Eagle Scout Mess Hall. 

"But Earl, won't we get in trouble?" Cecil had worried. 

"It's okay! It's called the Late night entry badge for a reason. It's supposed to be risky. Come on, it'll be really, really... neat." And with enough reassurance, Cecil had finally caved. Earl knew he would; they did everything together, and that was just the way he liked it. 

The next step, happening right now, was getting Cecil out of his house late at night. Earl crossed his fingers over the handlebars of his bicycle as he coasted down the long driveway to the Palmer house. Just as he'd promised, Cecil was there waiting for him in his uniform (it was official Scout business, after all). Earl also liked it when they wore their uniforms together; it was one more thing they had in common.

"Hi Earl!" Cecil was practically shouting, despite the late hour. He realized his mistake and clapped a hand over his mouth, but continued waving excitedly with the other one. He wheeled out a beaten-up bicycle, coated in silver paint, from behind the porch, hopped on, and the boys pedaled up the slope to the Mess Hall. 

“It’s two in the morning, Palmer,” Earl said as they approached the large, dark building. “Happy birthday.”

"Thanks, Harlan. I’m excited for this, um, surprise of yours.” Cecil stole a glance over at the other boy. “You really didn’t have to do anything.” They slowed and pulled up in the lot. “Are you sure this is going to be safe?" Cecil asked. "I just... I feel it might endanger my internship at the NVCR station and..."

"Cee, your name's down on the tablets at City Hall! You're meant to be the Voice of Night Vale someday; I don't think they could be mad at you if they wanted." They got off their bikes, and Earl couldn't help staring as Cecil swung his leg over the seat to dismount.

"If you're sure." Cecil still looked nervous, so Earl held out his hand. 

"Come on. I promise I won't let anything bad happen." Cecil grabbed on to Earl's hand if it were the only thing holding him to the earth. Perhaps it was. 

They approached the main door to the mess hall as Cecil got his lock picking kit out, and quickly opened the lock. Cecil looked less nervous now, and more excited at the prospect of earning a new scout badge. 

Cecil gave a small smile, which made Earl’s stomach to do something not entirely unpleasant. He'd always wanted Cecil to hold his hand, but he'd never really thought it would happen. Earl led his friend up the main steps to the door.  
Soon, they were on the roof, staring at the stars, and-  
"The moon." Cecil whispered. Earl just smiled.   
Cecil set down the lock picking kit, and before Earl could quite figure out what was happening, Cecil was kissing him. On the mouth. Hands in his hair. It... it might have gone on for a while –- it was hard to tell -- and Earl was a little flustered when Cecil pulled away. His head spun, his face flushed, and he knew he didn't want it to stop. They stayed up on the roof until sunrise, scrambling down just in time to return before the staff got there and dash off on their bikes before the mess hall opened for the day. 

 

A few years later, Cecil started interning at NVCR, and he had to leave the Scouts. Said he didn't have time for them anymore. And then his family had disappeared, and then, well, then Cecil had disappeared, and when he came back, he was... different.

Earl couldn't understand why no one ever wanted to talk about it. Maybe nobody else remembered. Maybe they weren't supposed to. But he did. He remembered Cecil before those tattoos spiraled down his arms, before his eyes turned that arresting silvery violet. Before that third, faintly glowing eye would flicker onto his forehead and Cecil would see and say strange things.

Earl missed the old Cecil, even if admitting it would get him slammed in reeducation faster than he could say the Boy Scout Pledge. His eyes were what he remembered most -- they used to be green. 

That Cecil had been his, the one that he had known, the one he still looked for to this day. It was with this story fresh in his heart that he was carried to the bottom of the universe by the mysterious creatures that had appeared out of the growing, pitch dark hole living within the physical world, and his internal turmoil. 

 

He fell for many days and nights, in all that time preparing for the end of that fall. The darkness pressed in around him, and his lungs had since given up screaming, not because he had lost his voice, but because he had lost all hope. 

One day, he knew not how long, he hit the bottom. 

\-----------------

"I know who you are, Mr Harlan." A voice spoke out in the darkness. Earl, with what strength he had left, opened his eyes. Not that it made a difference. His world was still black, still not changing. His glasses has fallen off in the fall, so he decided it was a blurry shade of black. He ached all over, and was covered in a thin layer of dust. It felt grey, though it might have been gray. He and the scouts hadn't practiced their color sensing abilities in quite some time.   
"Mr Harlan, I know."  
You know what, Earl thought. My name? Congratulations.   
"Mr Harlan, you are dead."  
Really, thought Earl with a varying degree of sarcasm. I hadn't noticed.   
"Then if you are dead, what am I?"  
Earl rolled over, painfully and with great effort. Panting heavily now, he reached around for his glasses. What do you mean?  
"I asked you Harlan, what am I?"  
Earl opened his eyes again, but didn't need to. He already knew who it was. He found his glasses, put them on, and continued from there.   
"Hello, Death. Nice to see you again." It came out more creakily than he had supposed it would, but that didn't matter. He coughed a few times, as the world had left his throat dry and cracked. He ran his hand through his now covered in ash coppery hair, trying to right himself after the fall.   
"Hello scoutmaster. What brings you to my humble presence? Night Vale most likely. I visit there often. Am I wrong? Of course not. Nope." Death sighed, as if he despised being right.   
A silence filled the room, instead of the deep, but not disturbing, voice of death, who continued to talk, as if to an old friend.   
"You know Mr Harlan, not many people get to sit and chat with me very much. Not anymore. You see, outside of Night Vale, the rest of the world's in turmoil. Nobody likes each other anymore. It's all wars and who's better and that sort of stuff, but I'll tell you Harlan, it's not easy. I'm getting to old for this. To old for this job and I am tired. You get my meaning, eh?" His feet clicked on the floor as he paced back and forth in front of the scoutmaster.   
Earl was feeling better, and managed to sit upon the floor beneath him. He took his flashlight from his belt, clicked it on, and shone it on the voice.   
There, a man who looked to be about Earl's own age stood, though he could see that this man had seen the universe through his golden eyes. His hair was a dark blur, his skin pale white, and his clothes tattered but long. Earl, wishing he could see better though the cracked glass of the glasses, coughed up a few more pieces of gravel, as Death motioned for Earl to come closer to him. He stood up with great effort, before his legs gave out underneath him, and he fell back down to the gravel, further tearing up his knees, where blood had already previously been welling. Death held out his hand, and helped the other man up. His hand was cold, but comforting in that it was there. Earl's legs felt like slime, as they wobbled about. Death, however, kept him steady.   
"But you, Mr Harlan, you are a special case if mine."  
Earl cocked his head to the side, wondering why and how that could be. He was nothing special to anyone. All that he ever did was to make other people's lives better for them. Except maybe Cecil's.  
"Ah, Harlan. There you are wrong. You are very special. To me, to others that you know."  
Earl's thoughts turned to many a person, but left out, purposefully, a man with white hair and green eyes.   
"Yes, Earl. Don't tell me you died for nothing."  
And with this new blur of excitement, death leaned down, and kissed him on the cheek. He hesitated before coming up, however, and whispered something in the man's ear. Earl's face turned five different emotions from the start of the message to the end, from fear, to hope, to determination. Death leaned back up to the position of power it looked like he normally resided in.   
"Cecil's a lucky man, Earl. I know that much." He smiled, and Earl, knowing what the man meant, smiled as well.   
As Earl tried to connect the dots together, the taller man knelt and took his hand, saying long known and longer unknown incantations of origins Earl could not begin to understand. And suddenly, a very long suddenly, he was standing in a kitchen.   
In Night Vale. 

"Gia Samuel's review in the latest issue of the Night Vale Daily Journal mentioned Turnakit sous chef, Earl Harlan. And that surprised me- Earl was a childhood friend of mine, and I had no idea he was a professional chef. And also because he was dragged away screaming by the herd of mute children at last year's eternal scout ceremony. Very few ever survive Boy Scout courts of honor. Especially those dragged away by the mute children. So- I'm glad to see Earl back home and safe, and likely returning to his volunteer duties as scoutmaster. I hope one day to get a reservation to his fine restaurant."

Earl switched off the radio in his house, a habit that he had kept up with upon returning to Night Vale, listening to Cecil as he fell asleep. Although, he couldn't possibly fall asleep tonight, he still listened to the required listening program whenever he could.   
He had never had any interest in the culinary arts prior to this kitchen experience, and didn't know what to expect. Every day, though, he saw more and more of Death, as though his not that bad looking face was haunting him. He saw him in the meat of animals, in the flesh of vegetables, everywhere in the kitchen. He couldn't avoid Death. And it seemed like Death didn't want to avoid him. 

His house, the same one he has lived in prior to his -disappearance- was largely unchanged, save for a few spiders and bugs, the faceless old women had kept it well. He should leave her a piece of cake sometime.   
Suddenly, a loud buzzing sound came from the kitchen. Earl jumped almost a foot into the air at the sound, to realize that it happened to be his phone. The couch squealed with his parting, and the floor squeaked its remarks as he passed by.   
The message was from none other than Cecil himself.   
"I'm coming over," it read, "it's good to hear you are alive."  
Earl smirked at that. He knew that Cecil was glad he was alive, but his perfect scientist still was as well. Unfortunately for him.   
Earl went and sat in his upstairs bathroom, forming a plan and knowing he would not stick to it. The walls of the room were compressing to him, the colors overpowering. Whoever had decided that "blood orange" would look good in an upstairs bathroom was completely crazy. He looked through his cupboard. Toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, hand mirror, bloodstones, tentacles, other items... Earl ran a hand through his coppery hair, and polished his glasses, which had since healed themselves from the fall.   
Soon, Cecil found his way up the rickety fire escape, and into the bathroom. Just like old times. Just like before the scientist. Earl stood up. Cecil stared through his rectangle shaped glasses.   
"How- how is this..."  
"Possible?" Earl finished. "It's not."  
"Well then..." Cecil's hair, white as ever, reflected much of the moonlight that shone through the small window on the ceiling. Earl tried to open the door that lead to the rest of the house. It wouldn't budge.   
"The faceless old women must have changed the locks on us..." Earl knew that he should have given her that piece of cake. Everything was going as planned. Cecil went over to the door, and he, too, was denied by the wooden barrier. Earl spoke up.   
"The faceless old women should change it back eventually."  
Cecil nodded,"She's just mad about the election." Earl nodded.   
" I guess we wait now?"  
"Yep. It'll be... Neat." Cecil smiled.   
"So how did you survive the fall-"  
"-You know I can't tell you that Cee."  
Cecil smiled at the name, and moved closer to the, by comparison, smaller scoutmaster.   
"At least give me a hint, Mr Harlan."  
Earl smiled at Cecil, standing perfectly in the moonlight, as he turned towards the cupboard, and away from the towering announcer.   
"So how's Mr Perfect Scientist?" The muffled question was most un-scouting of him, but it needed to be asked.   
"It's... Good. Have you gotten anyone yet?" Earl smirked, and turned away from the cupboard.   
"None as good as you Cee."  
Cecil turned away, but Earl pulled him closer, and in the perfect moonlight, kissed him on the cheek.   
"But at least he loves me."  
Earl took the mirror from the back of the cupboard, and smashed it in a flurry of excited motion across the face of his former friend. The moonlight reflected over the broken shards, as each pierced through the less reflective whiteness of his white hair and shirt.   
Cecil's scream could be heard by this man only, because his heart was also screaming. The purple blood gathered around his feet, Cecil was bleeding from all over his head, his neck, anywhere the shards had even touched him. Earl stood back in horror of what he had done, and, with white tears running down his face, yelped out in terror, for himself, for Cecil, and for what used to be.   
"That was for me. For the first time, I did something for me. All my life, I have been selfless, and now, that's for me." Shouted Earl. "You hear that? For me." He was crying harder now.   
He knelt down in front of the body.   
"I'm so sorry." He whispered in the ear of it. "I- I-" He fell down next to it, laying in the growing pool of blood. He knew no longer what he was doing in his own life.   
Death appeared to him.   
"You have done well, Mr Harlan. I have found someone, finally, who has shown me loyalty. Come with me, Earl." Earl's eyes looked from the body to the hand of the man who stood in front of him. He was as good as dead either way, and Cecil's death hadn't been for nothing.   
Earl smiled and took Death's hand, and to Cecil, they disappeared from the eyes of the living. Cecil, too, in time, disappeared from Night Vale, as all eventually do.   
Earl was loyal to Death, but unfortunately for him, the actions were not reciprocated, and Death soon killed him out of rage. Earl had disappeared from two worlds, the dead and the living, from which none can return, not even Death, nor his companion of Misery.


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil had known the exact moment of Earl's death. And it was a most unfortunate event, but he had other matters to attend to, such the strange amount of noises coming from station management's door. Truth be told, he did care for the man, but revealing that information would get him slammed into re-education faster than he could recite Old Woman Josie's shopping list. (Which was pretty fast). He wasn't about to, that was for sure. He sighed. Earl had been his childhood best friend after all. Even though he didn't quite remember anything from his childhood about Earl. 

Anyways, none of that mattered. There was work to be done, papers to shred and retape meticulously together, and utmost of all, there was at least one thing that the city council approved of, (provided he fill out the correct paperwork) and that was his relations with Carlos the scientist. It hadn't exactly happened yet... But he was sure it was to happen soon. He hoped. 

Cecil usually drove back to his apartment, but today the weather had called for rain, so he, of course, by city council mandate 2.7.3 had to ride the bus. This was a very unpopular law, but really, who wants to get into politics when everyone's wet and tired from a long day of work? Those new specially bread "politicians" were all that Cecil could think of. And of course, these were genetically modified organisms (who else could withstand the pain of politics?). He shuddered at the thought, as his bus purred up to the curb. 

Once he got home, he threw his glasses and tie across the sofa, and hearing a cry of pain, apologized to the old woman who secretly lived in his house. He walked over and turned on the radio, to hear the sound of the reassuring voices that he had promised that evening to the listeners, himself now included. He sighed. He knew Earl was dead, but what did that matter now? Everything was going to be okay, right?

It had been exactly one year since his twelfth birthday and Cecil was ecstatic about what Earl was planning, but wouldn't tell him. The last birthday surprise, well, it was neat. Palmer, he thought, Get a hold of yourself! He knew to play it cool, to be- Was that the door? Cecil knew. That since it was exactly 12:01 am on his 13th birthday, that this must be Earl's surprise. He cautiously opened the door, waiting to see Earl's bright face in the dull light, and would pull him through the door, one hand on his cheek, and kiss him, like he did one year ago. That was the surprise Cecil had for him. Well- maybe the plan had to be adjusted. The door swung open to reveal two men in suits, a man who was not tall, and a man who was not short. They looked at each other, and then back at the teen in front of them.   
"Are you Cecil Gershwin Palmer, Mr.?"  
Cecil smiled. This must be the surprise that Earl had planned. He had even gotten some of his friends from the scouts to help! This was so exciting.   
Trying to contain his excitement, Cecil spoke.   
"Yes it is sir, and-"   
"Come with us." The men said in unison. "Come with us to a... Surprise."  
Cecil might have squealed with delight. Might have.   
He followed the figures through the darkness, to the town hall.   
Sweet, Cecil thought. Earl really knows how to throw a party.   
But something told him otherwise. That piece of intuition that told him something was wrong, it turned out to be right. The men lead him up the stairs, and into the reeducation center. When he came out, he didn't remember, well, anything.   
And his eyes were purple. 

"Gia Samuel's review in the latest issue of the Night Vale Daily Journal mentioned Turnakit sous chef, Earl Harlan. And that surprised me- Earl was a childhood friend of mine, and I had no idea he was a professional chef. And also because he was dragged away screaming by the herd of mute children at last year's eternal scout ceremony. Very few ever survive Boy Scout courts of honor. Especially those dragged away by the mute children. So- I'm glad to see Earl back home and safe, and likely returning to his volunteer duties as scoutmaster. I hope one day to get a reservation to his fine restaurant."

Cecil switched off the microphone, and, without waiting for input from the secret police nor station management, read over Gia Samuel's review one more time, and started scrolling through his contacts. There. In the bottom row, bottom line, it was still there. Earl Harlan, Turnakit sous chef. He pulled up his messaging system.   
"I'm coming over," it read, "it's good to hear you are alive."  
He tried to ignore the one before that, but couldn't, as he raced from the booth, down the stairs, to his car.   
"We could have had something Cecil. We really could've." Cecil shook his head, clearing his brain. He was going to see his childhood best friend.   
The route seemed familiar, even if he hadn't taken it before. It seemed like he'd been- No. No Cecil. Now is not the time to open up memories that are sure to get you reeducated.   
He parked approximately 2.54 miles from Earl's house, and walked the rest of the way, knowing, somehow, which was the right one. And to go up the fire escape, and not front door. Each clang of his foot on the rickety metal would signal his arrival. He neared the bathroom window to see a figure that he recognized all too easily. Earl stood up using the sink to help him. Cecil stared through his rectangle shaped glasses.   
"How- how is this..."  
"Possible?" Earl finished. "It's not."  
"Well then..." Cecil's hair, white as ever, reflected much of the moonlight that shone through the small window on the ceiling as he climbed through the window. Earl tried to open the door that lead to the rest of the house. It wouldn't budge.   
"The faceless old women must have changed the locks on us..." Cecil knew that this was normal old woman behavior, but still, it felt somewhat... Unnerving. Cecil went over to the door, and he, too, was denied by the wooden barrier. Earl spoke up.   
"The faceless old women should change it back eventually."  
Cecil nodded,"She's just mad about the election." Earl nodded along with him.   
" I guess we wait now?" He stammered.   
"Yep. It'll be... Neat." Cecil smiled.   
"So how did you survive the fall-" he tacked on quickly.  
"-You know I can't tell you that Cee."  
Cecil smiled at the name, and moved closer to the, by comparison, smaller scoutmaster, examining the contents of the nearby cupboard.   
"At least give me a hint, Mr Harlan."  
Earl smiled his melancholy smile, and Cecil knew that he couldn't. Just as he was about to ask him about cooking, and maybe even if he could come on the show to talk about the subject, Earl turned away towards the cupboard.   
"So how's Mr Perfect Scientist?" Cecil had not been prepared for that sentence. Now or ever. Even if he managed to get out of the desert, there would be a certain time and place for the question, and this wasn't it.   
"It's... Good. Have you gotten anyone yet?" Earl smirked, and turned away from the cupboard.   
"None as good as you Cee."  
Cecil turned away knowing that remembering that time would have bad endings. But Earl pulled him closer, and in the moonlight, kissed him on the cheek. Cecil backed away slowly, incrementally, as Earl moved closer to the cupboard.   
"But at least he loves me."  
Cecil had been looking away the exact moment it happened, but the outcome was clear. The mirror from the cupboard had swung, by the hand of Earl, and hit him on the side of his head, piercing through his scalp and neck. The moonlight reflected over the broken shards, as each touched the less reflective whiteness of his white hair and shirt.   
Cecil knew that this could not be his death. It couldn't be. No. He didn't know what to do next, though, so he screamed, hoping that the bathroom didn't conform to city council rule 11.1.4, and wasn't actually sound proofed. Everything was growing fuzzy, black around him. Earl was speaking, apparently, but Cecil didn't know what to make of it. And what he did hear didn't make sense.   
"That was for me. For the first time, I did something for me. All my life, I have been selfless, and now, that's for me.You hear that? For me." He was crying harder now. Cecil knew that Earl had meant to do this, but he didn't and- it didn't make sense. At all.   
Earl knelt down in front of the Cecil.   
"I'm so sorry." He whispered in the ear of it. "I- I-" He fell down next to it, laying in the growing pool of blood. He knew no longer what he was doing in his own life. Earl took a shard, once lying on the ground, an felt its weight in his hand. Cecil, knowing the outcome of this, tried to move closer, to stop him. All that really happened came out as, "No." And he fell back. He heard a cry of pain beside him, and he knew Earl was gone too. To where, why, he would never know. But Cecil just lay there, in a pool of his own blood, still waiting for the old woman to change the locks.   
And she did, eventually. And with her own legs brought Cecil before the "angels" of old woman Josie, who healed him. And cleared his memory, again, of that night. Never to remember a moment with Earl.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've ever written something for the Archive, so tell me what you think! Any feedback is appreciated!


End file.
